


He always said he didn't get this song (but I do)

by henribrl



Series: Hello Love, my invincible friend. [2]
Category: Hurts (Band)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 13:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4831133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henribrl/pseuds/henribrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Surrender is non-resistance, freedom, letting go.'</p><p>It's 2020 and Theo's birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He always said he didn't get this song (but I do)

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to All is now harmed (I forget where we were) , it’s the year 2020 and Theo’s birthday. This was written for the prompt Gaycraft + 16 “What a thing to say - and on my birthday!”. You will hate me for this. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. 
> 
> Title by Taylor Swift’s ‘Begin Again’, listen to it while reading this. 
> 
> I do not own Hurts nor is this written with the intent do make money out of it. This is a work of fiction, and if you are one of the characters mentioned in the tags above then I kindly advice you to not read on further. If you, as the reader, show this in any way to the people mentioned above bad things will happen. JK. But don't send this to anyone of Hurts or who is close to them. And last but not least, you know the drill, it isn’t beta’d or anything and I’m no native speaker so there might be a few grammar, syntax or spelling mistakes. Feel free to adopt and take care of them.

The light of the day is grey and gloomy, casting a blurry play of whites and shadows on Theo’s living room wall, and he thinks grimly that this is no weather appropriate for August. Even less for his birthday. Certainly, there is nothing he can do about it – controlling the weather is not one of his gifts nor a talent of his, so he just has to deal with it as he always does.

It is quiet in his home, unusually quiet even and he leans back into the sofa cushions to soften the emptiness in the silence that rings through every room. He is not used to it. He will probably never be used to it. But life goes on, he tells himself. It always does.

Used to, anyway.

It’s been more than six years, he thinks, and warms his shaking hands on the coffee mug he’s holding. He can’t really remember a time they haven’t been constantly trembling, he can barely play the piano these days, but he does anyway. Because the sound is sweet and melancholic and nostalgia is a well-known and old friend, and because there’s a bleached spot on the piano where, years ago, they tried to get Emily’s nail polish off it and because it brings the memories back that seemed to vanish after it all changed.

He has abandoned the show biz, mostly. Now he only writes songs for friends of his, collaborates with former label-mates or familiar strangers. Ada – Calvin has been here often, has written songs with him when he has been ready to do so and even though they never saw the light of the day it still felt a bit like freedom. It still does.

The rain is trickling down the window pain, a light drizzle and he smiles despite himself. It feels weird, almost forced even, but these days he’s past the stages of faking laughs and forcing smiles. They come naturally now, well, sometimes they do but it’s a victory every time it happens.

Theo learned to appreciate every little victory.

It’s what  _he_ would have liked.

He lays his head back on the rest and blindly turns on the TV to fill the void with words and voices he will never be able to replace. It’s a cheap escape but it’s all he can buy himself.

His mum and dad called earlier, as well as Jak who offered to come by but he declined politely. He doesn’t want anyone around today. He never has been wanting anyone around on his birthday again, since, well – since it happened.

It’s okay though. That’s what they told him. It’s okay.

Someday it will be, he’s sure.

Sighing, he stands up from his sofa and leaves his coffee mug on the floor next to the lamp that’s on the right side of his couch. He grabs his jacket and puts it on, because it’s chilly for august, autumn arriving way too early and it’s a deja vu in all the terrible ways only god or destiny or faith – another old friend – can come up. He draws the collar of his jacket up when he steps out of the door into the cold mist of the day, the air already smelling like September and the death of Summer.

Naturally, he takes the bus. People do rarely recognize him these days, even though his appearance hasn’t changed  much in the last years; he still spots the earring and the combed back hair, carefully arranged on most mornings with the patience of an old soul, and he still wears formal clothing every day. Now, there are a few grey hairs illuminating his dark hair and turning it the unique colour of a clear night sky but he’s used to them. It’s what time does to you, he learned. Change.

While he leans his head onto the window, hands in his lap, he plays with the ring there, a present for his 30th birthday by James. It’s a heirloom, of course, passed down to James’ dad by James granddad and then on to James’ brother and now it’s Theo’s. He always wears it. Will probably always will.

The bus ride takes precisely 28 minutes to the familiar destination he knows so well by know and his feet are carrying him like a soldier up the hill. The clouds are a mixture of darker greys and lighter greys, translucence shimmers on the sky, disturbing the pattern of constant darkness and sleepless nights. They are rare by now, the sleepless nights, because he learned to deal with his nightmares. Slowly. But he did. And now he sleeps well enough to not be exhausted in the morning. It’s more than he could ask for.

His feet seem to have pressed the pattern of their soles into the spot where he stands right now, at least Theo thinks they should have, so often he has been here.

Every other week, at least.

He reads the silver letters on the smooth marble, silver, because Adam wouldn’t have liked gold or anything too colourful. Black marble, because it seemed appropriate. The contrast of stone and scripture is familiar in all the bad ways, but he doesn’t complain anymore. It wasn’t his decision. He is used to it by now.

The quote on the stone, he has memorised. He doesn’t need to look at it, but he does anyway. He always does.

’ _surrender is non-resistance, freedom, letting go.’_

Adam said it to him in bed, one evening. It was frighteningly fitting when they searched for a fitting quote years ago. It still is, until this day.

Theo smiles to himself, a sad, private smile, reserved for this place and for  _him_  only.

“What a thing to say, Adam.” he mumbles, kneeling down in front of the stone, sliding his hand over the flawless surface. He leans his forehead against the cold stone. “And on my birthday.”

He doesn’t say anything more, only stays like this for a little while until it gets too cold to be out without moving around.

The journey back home is quiet.

When he comes home the TV is still on.

**Author's Note:**

> Begin Again.


End file.
